Memories: A Volume Dedicated to Lady Sybil Branson, née Crawley
by MelodyOfSong526
Summary: Family, friends, servants, and villagers all reflect the life and passing of Lady Sybil.
1. Mary's Secret

**Meant to get this out sooner, but...yeah...  
**

**Not exactly happy, but there are M/M bits in here for the victims of CS2.**

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Downton Abbey (I sorely wish I did, though!)**_

* * *

Mary's Secret

Sybil had always been the last person in the household to find out about things.

She had been resting in the gardens when it was announced that a new chauffeur was under consideration (what a coincidence that she would eventually marry the same man!). Tom had received the news about Gwen finally obtaining a job as a secretary long before Sybil had known. All had met Lavina Swire before her, and therefore knew her imminent connection to Matthew long before Sybil had. Practically everyone had found out about the Canadian who'd claimed himself to be Patrick Crawley before she did. Whatever the event, Sybil had always been the last—or one of the last—to find out. But nevertheless, she always did find out, eventually.

All except for one rather scandalous night.

The day had been like any other, except for the fact that there was a hunting party for two guests of honor occurring at Downton…

Mary regrets it every minute of every day that passes. Her darling baby sister was gone, and she had kept her biggest secret concealed from the sweetest woman on earth. Though it would have hurt her to see the expression of horror bestowed upon Sybil's features, she regrets not confiding in her sister before death's hand had claimed her.

Now, as Mary sits alone with her baby sister, does she release the rivulets of tears she's been holding in. They are tears of regret, sorrow, and remorse combined in one. The loss is beginning to take its toll on her as the cries grew violently distressing. She feels her throat beginning to dry out as the sobs intensified, the hurt reminding her of the cost of letting the emotion run its course.

When the sobs had at long last slowed, she wiped her eyes before settling down in a chair adjacent to the bed.

"My darling…please do wake up, Sybil. You cannot be gone!"

The closed eyelids do not flutter, nor do they open to reveal soft chocolate orbs. As Mary reaches to grasp Sybil's hand, she does not feel a familiar warmth radiating from the bluish flesh.

It is with these observations that Mary truly comes to the realization that her sister is dead.

Without so much as a flinch, Mary finally tells Sybil the secret she should have told her a long time ago. She recounts the day rapidly, almost as if the event had happened a day or so prior. The explanations are met with difficulties (they _were _rather unladylike actions), but she manages. Every detail is vividly clear, like a diamond in the rough.

When the tale is through, Mary kisses Sybil's forehead before exiting the room.

~_o_~

Mary soon finds that she cannot sleep.

No matter how much tossing and turning occurs, she cannot bear to lie still for the briefest of moments. Her mind churns and churns, never wanting to stay still. The room feels stuffy and uncomfortable, as if the air is growing thinner by the second.

A nagging feeling won't disappear; instead, it lingers like an apparition. She cannot stop thinking about the earlier one-sided conversation with Sybil. Initially, she had believed that it would lift a burden from her shoulders. Instead, it seems to have left an emptiness of sorts in her chest. Something was missing. What of, she was not certain.

"Mary? Darling, what's the matter?" Matthew yawns as he sees his wife looking worrisome.

"Nothing. I just couldn't sleep." She puts on a smile before kissing his brow.

"I'm going to go clear my head."

"Do you wish for my company?"

"No, that's alright. I want to be alone for a bit."

He hesitates.

"If this is about the funeral tomorrow…"

She shakes her head.

"No, not exactly. I need to be there, anyway, Matthew."

"I know that, darling, but-"

"But nothing." She sighed. "I'll be back soon, I promise you."

After a quick peck on the lips, Matthew fell back asleep while Mary sought for Sybil's room once again.

~_o_~

As Mary sits next to her baby sister once again, she sees that she is seeking for closure. Although she has finally recognized the fact that she will never talk to her sister again, she cannot help but think if there's something more she needs to do. The question is: what is it?

She ponders over this for quite some time. To pass the time, she paces and examines some of Sybil's old things (the family couldn't bear to remove some of the things, nor did they wish to go through the trouble of asking the servants for assistance). Every memento reminded her of each stage of Sybil's life: the harem pants from her suffragette days; the headscarf she wore during the War when she was on nurse duty; and—most recently—the royal blue knitted hat that she had worn to Downton after her marriage to Tom.

She paused as she reached Sybil's writing nook. A blue quill and a blotter of ink lay untouched. Sheets of perfectly pressed parchment lay in a stack, as if waiting to be used.

Suddenly, an idea forms in Mary's mind. She knows how to fulfill the emptiness in her chest. The inspiration hits her like a lightning bolt. How she did not think of it sooner, she would never know, but what mattered at the present moment was that she could resolve her conflict.

After gentling kissing Sybil's cold forehead, she dashes from the room and makes her way down to the library.

~_o_~

The words seem to write themselves almost effortlessly. Her hand will not cease its steady progression across the parchment; it is as if the motion was halted for a mere moment, all thought would vanish into a deep abyss. The steady rhythm seemed to calm her as she began to allow the feelings to unravel.

Mary was not much of a writer, but she was satisfied with the end product she had produced. After a hasty proofread, she folds the letter and seals it before returning to bed.

~_o_~

The monotonous drab of black does nothing to awaken Mary's spirits the following morning. All the sobs drown one another out until they become a melancholy symphony of depression.

When it was Mary's turn to whisper her final farewell to Sybil, she takes a deep breath before kneeling at the coffin.

"My darling…you will be dearly missed. You were the light of Downton. Whenever things were horribly wrong, you would be there to inject a ray of sunshine. Now that you're gone, the house seems rather grey and dull."

She dabs at her eyes before subtly placing the letter into her sister's hands.

"I hope that you will read this, Sybil. I know I've recently told the tale contained in this letter, but I want to make sure you truly do know. You are—once again—one of the last people to find out. Nevertheless, it's essential you know, darling."

" I'm not as innocent or sweet as you were, nor shall I pretend that I know of any person who is. May you rest well, darling. We will always remember and cherish you."

She stands and presses a lingering kiss to her baby sister's forehead before heading towards Matthew.

"Are you alright?"

She nods before leaning her head on his shoulder.

"I will never get over it, I suppose. My life will continue on, but I won't ever forget her. She's my sister. And she always will be, whether in life or death. I will miss her, but I will gradually begin to heal over time."

He smiles before kissing her hand.

"We'll all miss her, Mary."

"I know. Even the servants will."

"Indeed we will." Mrs. Hughes suddenly appears, sniffing slightly.

"I remember when she was a baby. Always so sweet and kind. Such a wonderful girl, the kindest toddler I've ever set my eyes on. Not that I mean any offense to you or Lady Edith, milady."

"I know you don't." Mary smiles warmly at the housekeeper.

"Mrs. Hughes, do take the day off. All of you. I've already spoken with Papa about it. He truly doesn't mind in the slightest."

"Are you sure, milady?"

Mary nodded.

"It's what Sybil would have wanted."

Smiling sadly, the housekeeper thanks Mary and goes off to search for the other servants.

"Did Robert really give his permission?"

"He won't mind, not today."

Smiling, Matthew tenderly strokes her cheek.

"You have no idea how much I love you, Mary Crawley."

Blushing, she gestured towards the coffin.

"I think they need you."

He sighed.

"I don't want to believe she's gone."

"But the fact remains that she is. We all have to face it, Matthew."

With a lingering smile, he leaves and joins the other coffin bearers.

Mary watches him as he lifts the casket. His golden hair sways as if a subtle breeze had disturbed its stationary stance. She can see the pain etched into his features as he carries his sister-in-law's coffin out into the cemetery.

Mary gathers herself before following them outside. Despite the gray demeanor of the day, she feels the tiniest bit of happiness beginning to seep into her veins.

How could she have ever preferred a Turkish diplomat over the perfect gentleman? Perhaps during that time, she would have been able to comprehend all of it. But now that she was older and a bit wiser, she cannot imagine how she had once considered her spouse as anything resembling a sea monster.

She sighs.

Perhaps Sybil would figure it out…

* * *

**In case you didn't figure it out, Mary's secret that was never revealed to Sybil was her encounter with Pemuk. I was thinking about it for a couple of months and I was like, "Huh. Mary never told her, yet everyone else eventually found out."  
**

**This was originally going to be a one-shot, but I decided to make this a big volume dedicated to the secrets never revealed to Sybil (she was my favorite character, after all). **

**Reviews make me happy. :) xo**


	2. Thomas' Sorrow

_I'm just gonna start doing the A/N's like this. Looks better than bold.  
_

_And yes, I changed the name of this so now it is "Memories: A Volume..." instead of "Secrets: A Volume...". _

_Disclaimer: I do not own "Downton Abbey"._

* * *

Thomas' Sorrow

Thomas Barrow has never been a 'softy' in all his life, nor did he ever wish to become known as one. When his beloved father passed away, he did not cry, for his father would have disproved of such an action. If the new footman got the opportunity to take the entrée into the Dining Room while he took the sauce, he didn't mope and complain to anyone about it (not anymore, anyway). Instead, he turned to those wonderful cigarettes of his. When he felt the smoke infiltrate his lungs, he felt free. He was freed of his troubles and had the ability to immerse himself in the hazy world of smoke. It was a beautiful sensation, and it was one he enjoyed to succumb to often.

But yet, when Lady Sybil Branson passed away, why couldn't he stand to bring a single cigarette to his lips and—more importantly—why did tears cascade down his face in waterfalls?

Lady Sybil had always been a favorite with the downstairs servants. Whenever she was hungry, she would sneak down to the kitchen just before dinner and beg Mrs. Patmore to fix something up for her. The woman was, at first, a bit hesitant, but soon allowed the ritual to occur. _ "She's a rebel, alright," _the cook would say. _"I'll bet an angry pack o' wolves wouldn' stop her, I tell you!" _

Lady Sybil had always treated the servants with the utmost respect. Never had she looked down her nose at them like Lady Mary tended to (more so in her younger years) or timidly bark orders like Lady Edith (once again, an occurrence that took place more so during her childhood). Instead, Lady Sybil had treated them all as equals, friends even. She laughed at their jokes and cried when something horrid had happened. She delighted in hearing their stories about how they found themselves in service. It was a different atmosphere than the upstairs spectacle, and she tended to delight in the downstairs environment.

Though her visits became less frequent as she grew and matured, all the servants still valued her very much. None really saw her as personally as Thomas and Anna, though. Anna had the opportunity to converse with Lady Sybil when changing her gowns. The two could talk 'woman-to-woman' without any social barriers in the way. Thomas had the privilege to talk with her during the War when they both worked at the hospital. There, they had had long discussions about life and death, which had constantly been surrounding them. He had told her things that he had never even told Mrs. O'Brien. There was something about her that made it easy to talk to her; a sense of conformity grew in him when she was around. She had been a friend to him. In his cruel world of hatred and depression, she had been the beacon of light.

And now, she was dead.

She was much more than _dead _to Thomas, though. She had vanished forever. Never again would she float downstairs for a snack. Her laugh would no longer echo throughout the hallways and corridors of the house. She would never give one of her genuine, heartwarming smiles to anyone who was in pain. No, for her existence was wiped from the world completely. All that was left of her were memories. These memories would wound the living for the rest of eternity. For how could those who knew her ever be happy replaying these memories when she no longer walked the Earth? What was the purpose in reliving such splendid moments when she was no longer around to appreciate them as well?

With salt filling his mouth, Thomas began to feel regret creeping in. There were so many things that he had wanted to share with her. He had wanted to discuss the death of the young Lieutenant in more depth. He had wanted to discuss all the possible baby names that she and Tom had come up with. He was hoping to spend some time with her before she went back to Dublin with Tom (he hadn't really said a proper farewell to her when she and Tom had finally left Downton to get married with Lord and Lady Grantham's consent). He had wished to confess his romantic preferences to her; she would have taken it more kindly than anyone else, surely.

But now, it was much too late.

With a heavy heart, he began to allow himself to grieve for her. What a sight he must appear to be, what with bloodshot eyes and tears streaming down his face in torrents! Thomas rarely expressed any sort of sensitivity around others, for it was a sure sign of weakness. This being stated, he often turned to contempt and a general loathing for others' happiness. It made him disgustingly pleased that others disliked this demeanor, as well as made him feel _strong_. When he made a snarky remark, a spark ignited in him. He felt alive and powerful, in a most loathsome manner.

But never before had death affected his being so. Sybil had been his only genuine friend. She hadn't berated him about his wishes nor admonished his behavior. In fact, she encouraged him to pursue these wishes and enjoyed his company immensely. Even Mrs. O'Brien had eventually turned against him. But Lady Sybil had always been there for him, even when she was a child.

_When he had first met her, he had been sixteen. As the young lad he was, he worked hard in order to keep a roof over his head. He alternated between selling newspapers on the weekdays and working at the blacksmith on the weekends. He owned a tiny shack in York, which was located in the slums and was a poor excuse for a home. The meager living space was less than ideal, but what more could he do? _

_One day, as he was selling a paper to an elderly man, he noticed a curious spectacle occurring a few feet away. An eight year old girl—Lady Sybil—had stomped out of a dress shop, fuming with rage. Her mother and sisters had called after her. Being a rebel even back then, she had placed herself within the crowds of people in the village. Thomas had watched the girl with admiration, for it was a change for the typical aristocrat to act (or rather, the offspring of aristocrats). Spotting Thomas and his bicycle, she politely asked if he could take her on an adventure._

"_Please, sir! Will you take me far away from this place?" she looked up ever so hopefully at him._

_He smirked. The girl had struck a chord within him. She was strong and independent, just as he was when he was her age. _

"_Why on Earth would you want to leave, though, young miss?"_

_ The girl sighed. "My mamma wants me to become prim and proper like I'm supposed to be. Why, I'm an Earl's daughter, of course!" At this point, she rolled her eyes while Thomas bit his lip to keep his laughter within him. "I don't _want _to be, not really."_

_ "Why ever not? Don' you think it would be…enjoyable?"_

_ "Oh no, never! I _loathe_ making calls and dress fittings! The dress shop I was just in was horrid! Mrs. Finnigan—she's the dressmaker, you see—had her assistants poke and prod me so terribly much! That's why I ran away. I couldn't stand it anymore!" She crossed her arms and pouted rather stubbornly. _

_ The boy hesitated. "You know, I _would _take you on an adventure with me, Lady…?"_

_ "Sybil." She smiled while suppressing a giggle. Thomas could tell that she knew that he was teasing with her. Naturally, as a worker in the village, he'd had heard about the Earl of Grantham, his wife, and his three daughters. He also had the newspapers to view at his leisure whilst selling them._

_ "You know I would _gladly _take you on an adventure, Lady Sybil. But won' your mamma worry? I am a stranger to you, after all."_

_ "Well, I suppose so…" she shuffled her feet._

_ "And don' you have two sisters as well?"_

_ "Why yes—"_

_ "They would miss you too, Lady Sybil."_

_ "But—"_

_ "Don' forget your papa. He'd miss his daughter awfully much."_

_ She bowed her head down._

_ "I know." She mumbled._

_ "And your grandmother, the Dowager, yes?"_

_ She nodded._

_ "Wouldn' you miss your folks too?"_

_ "I suppose I would, yes."_

_ He smiled at her. Thomas now felt confident that he had dissuaded her wish to run away._

_ "Let's find your mamma and sisters, shall we, Lady Sybil?"_

_ Taking her tiny hand in his, Thomas Barrow located the Countess and the two sisters a few blocks away. Lady Mary and Lady Edith were bickering up a storm and Lady Grantham was attempting to calm the two down. _

_ "'scuse me, your Ladyship, but I found Lady Sybil just a moment ago."_

_ The Countess suddenly whirled around and widened her eyes with relief._

_ "Oh, thank you! Sybil, you shouldn't have run off like that! Do you have _any _idea how worried I was?" To this, Sybil merely bowed her head down. Turning to Thomas, she continued. "I'm so sorry—"_

_ "Please, your Ladyship, don' apologize."_

_ The Countess smiled. "How can I ever repay you?"_

_ "There's no need to, your Ladyship. I was only doin' what anyone else would've done." _

_ "But the fact is _you _returned my daughter to me. Pray tell, what is your name?"_

_ "Thomas. Thomas Barrow, your Ladyship."_

_ "Well, Mr. Barrow, thank you once again."_

_ "Thank you, Mr. Barrow." Sybil chimed in. With reddened cheeks, she stood with her mother while Thomas returned to selling papers. The two both knew that Lady Sybil's thanksgiving was much more than simple thanks of returning her to Lady Grantham. _

_ Three months later, Thomas Barrow became a servant at Downton Abbey._

"Thomas?"

He looked up to see Mr. Carson looming over him. Sniffing, he held his head in his hands.

"Please, Mr. Carson. Let me be."

Suddenly, a warm, large mass settled on his shoulder. Lifting his head ever so slightly, he saw it was Mr. Carson's hand.

"I don't miss her any less than you do, Thomas. None of us do. But we must move on with our lives."

"How can you say that?!" He glared at the butler, feeling rage overtake him. "Don' you think she ought to be remembered?"

"Of course she does. But would she wish for us to stop living our lives completely?"

Thomas sighed and shook his head.

"You see, Mr. Carson, I know that, perhaps better than anyone else down 'ere. But I can't help feeling that she would be ashamed if we didn' honor her in some way. I know she wouldn' want to see us weepin', but what else can we do, Mr. Carson? She would never have admitted that she wanted attention, but she did, in her own way. Not in the way Lady Mary or Lady Edith want attention. Lady Sybil jus' wanted to be _heard. _You see, that's why she loves Mr. Branson so much, Mr. Carson. He gave her the chance to be heard."

A silence hung over the two for a time. Taking a deep breath, Mr. Carson spoke once again.

"Mr. Barrow, take the remainder of the day off."

Dumbfounded, Thomas whipped his head up.

"Are you serious, Mr. Carson?"

The butler's mouth quirked the tiniest bit.

"Mr. Barrow, have you ever known be anything but a serious old fool?"

Chuckling, Thomas replied, "Not until now, Mr. Carson."

And then, as if the world was slowing, Thomas watched as Mr. Carson's face soften. The process was extraordinary in itself. His trademark hard-as-steel eyes had shrunken in size. Their color did not seem to be as opaque as they were a mere moment before. The corners of his mouth curved upward in the beginnings of a smile. His overbearing, stiff stature faltered a tiny bit.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson."

Patting Thomas' shoulder, Mr. Carson straightened.

"You best go now before I change my mind, Thomas."

Thomas shook his head and sighed. Perhaps Lady Sybil was laughing at him with affection somewhere.

And, for the briefest moment, he swore that he could hear a soft, tinkling laugh echoing down the hallway.

* * *

_Thank you for reading! Hope it wasn't too sad! xo  
_


End file.
